


Well Met Yesterday

by papersky_pencilstars



Series: The Pacific Rim AU [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies), The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Hal company ot4, Multi, Platonic Soulmates, aka the AU where people talk about their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28792065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papersky_pencilstars/pseuds/papersky_pencilstars
Summary: Bob Leckie, Hoosier Smith, Runner Conley and Chuckler Juergens are a chance in a million: All four of them are drift compatible with each other. As the fight against the Kaiju rages on and they strive to complete their grueling training and earn their wings, Leckie's dreams of joining the strike squadrons falter. Bonds he assumed were unbreakable are put to the test, and together the rookie pilots must confront what it means to share a soul.Major, major thank you to the wonderful Anthrobrat for beta-reading <3
Relationships: Robert Leckie & Bill "Hoosier" Smith, Wilbur "Runner" Conley & Lew "Chuckler" Juergens & Robert Leckie & Bill "Hoosier" Smith
Series: The Pacific Rim AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1943311
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9
Collections: Genuary 2021





	1. Chapter 1

_Jaeger Pilot Training Camp_

_Pearl Harbor, January 1942_

The dirt gets everywhere, a fine, red clay thats grinds into his skin and hair and stains every uniform he has; there’s no escape. Especially not when you’ve just lizard-crawled fifty meters along a drainage ditch. Leckie blinks sweat out of his eyes and squints down the barrel of his rifle at the rust-colored figures below. Purple bands around their upper arms mark them as ‘enemy’ troops in the current training exercise, he shifts position, making sure to keep his head below the line of the horizon, and scans the opposite hills for signs of his other team members.

Next to him, Hoosier shifts impatiently, “Come on, Leckie, let’s get a move on.”

“Give them time,” Leckie says, “they’ve got to get into position.” He knows they’ll be there when he needs them, just like he knows he can’t take the enemy positions without them. Just like he knows what the man next to him will say next.

“Time’s almost up, we can take them.”

Leckie shakes his head, not bothering to hide the faint smile that curls the corner of his mouth upwards against the butt of his rifle. Instead, he focuses on a clump of trees almost directly across from them, there’s movement in those branches he doesn’t think is from the wind. In fact, he’s certain it’s Runner getting into position, which means Chuckler is not far behind.

He takes a breath, loosens his shoulders, and sights in on his target. Beside him Hoosier is pure focus as he prepares his own aim, the nervous, fidgeting energy of the past half hour forgotten. Leckie exhales, and pulls the trigger. Almost simultaneously, there’s an equally sharp rapport to his left and two more distant pops from across the valley. Below them, four figures with purple armbands fall to the ground as paintball bullets smack into them, splattering them in bright green paint.

Four shots for four targets. It’s a perfect ambush, and all four of them know they have to press their advantage or lose it. Leckie pushes up onto his feet and takes the first twenty yards of the slope with Hoosier at his side. The other two keep up fire pressure from their side, pinning the enemy with their heads down until Leckie and Hoos have thrown themselves into the shelter of a shallow dip, then it’s their turn to cover while the other two advance.

It goes on like this, the four of them alternating advancing and covering fire. At one point they’re almost pinned down by a machine gun that’s staked out a field of fire across the open area they have to cross to reach the enemy positions. For a moment Leckie doesn’t think he can end this stalemate, the others are taking fire too, and they’re at a bad angle to cover them. It’s reckless Hoosier who solves the problem by lobbing a dummy smoke grenade with pinpoint accuracy and sprinting dead-on towards the gunner nest while the gunners are trying to clear their vision.

Leckie watches with his heart in his mouth as Hoosier dive rolls into the trench and grapples the closest man. Then he takes up his own rifle and sprints, not towards the machine gun - he knows Hoosier can handle himself - but to take out the enemy riflemen who will cut him down while his back is turned. Runner and Chuckler have both had similar ideas, and with the three of them covering them from above their opponents decide surrender is preferable to getting pelted with paintball pellets at short range.

A large hand shakes him roughly by the shoulder. “That was our best run yet.” Chuckler crows, grinning so wide it looks like it should hurt.

“It only worked so well because they were bunched together beneath two overlooks like a bunch of idiots.” Leckie says, which earns him a couple of glares from his defeated classmates.

“Leckie - Lucky - you’re the one who saw how to take advantage of it.” Chuckler lets him go to give him an affectionate smack on the helmet, a moment later they’re joined by Runner and Hoosier.

Runner quirks an eyebrow at Leckie, “How difficult was it to get him to wait for us to make it around?,”

“He about talked my ear off, you can have him.”

“I noticed he got a bit impatient at the end,” Chuckler digs a not so gentle elbow into Hoosier’s stomach, “you anxious for dinner?”

“Just trying to make up for the time you two spent taking in the scenery. Did you have a nice hike?” Hoosier touches his face unconsciously as he speaks, and Leckie sees that there’s a livid scrape along the cheekbone, he reaches out to turn Hoosier’s face towards him.

“How did that happen?,”

Hoosier jerks his head back and steps away, “One of the guys from Fox company got a little over-excited, that’s all.”

Leckie lowers his hand, he can’t help feeling like he’s been stung. He can feel the other two’s eyes on them.

Chuckler tries to bridge the pause, “Showers,” he says firmly, “and hot food. We’ve earned a break before study this evening.”

“I’ll catch up to you all a bit later, I have to go by HQ first.” Hoosier holds his hand out to Leckie, “Take your rifle for you? I’m heading that way anyway - save you a trip.” There’s a note of apology in the gesture, but Leckie can’t help feeling he’s looking for an excuse to get away. He unslings the rifle and hands it to Hoosier with a nod of thanks.

Chuckler’s watching him when he looks up, “We’re all tired. It’s these back-to-back training exercises they’re having us do each day.”

“It’s the heat.” Runner offers, “You’ll notice he didn’t offer to take either of our weapons.”

Leckie manages a tired smile and allows himself to be drawn along towards the slim comforts of the training base. The four of them have been at Pearl Harbor for two months now, and they’ve known each other for six, from the start right up to this final stage of their Jaeger pilot training. Sometimes it feels like he’s known them a lifetime, long before they decided to bunk together.

You can tell if two people are going to be drift compatible before they ever enter the drift together. Most Jaeger pilots are lucky to find the one person who can co-pilot a Jaeger with them. Leckie and Hoosier and Runner and Chuckler are one in millions, an anomaly that has the training commander’s attention laser-focused on them; each of them could co-pilot with any of the others. Four people, all drift compatible with each other. The odds of them finding each other are staggering when Leckie cares to contemplate it. The universe almost would have to cheat, nudge them together somehow, to make it happen.

Any pairing of them might be able to co-pilot together, but they all know that it’s going to be Runner and Chuckler, and Hoosier and Leckie in the Jaegers. Leckie’s not quite sure how that - not divide, sorting maybe - came about, but it’s an unspoken truth. He watches the other two up ahead, Runner sun-browned and slender, talking animatedly, Chuckler broad-shouldered and tall, dark head tilted towards Runner as he speaks. They don’t even have their Jaeger wings yet and you can already tell they’re a team, that their bond runs soul-deep.

The problem is that Leckie isn’t so sure he can say the same about himself and Hoosier anymore. He mulls on it all throughout his shower and the walk to the mess tent. The final training stages are meant to drain you mentally, physically, emotionally, and his exhausted brain scrabbles and slips at an impossible problem, turns in useless circles. At this stage in their training Jaeger co-pilots are supposed to become closer than siblings, more intimate than lovers as they work towards their eventual connection in the drift, but Hoosier has become more distant. It’s like he’s building walls around himself, shutting them all out. He doesn’t show at dinner, which gives Leckie even more to think about.

The other two notice both his distraction and Hoosier’s absence, and he’s grateful for the nonsensical banter they keep up that fills the silence without requiring his participation. It’s all he can manage to mechanically eat his way through a plate of overcooked noodles.

“You know what’s going on with him?” Chuckler’s low question disturbs his thoughts and Leckie checks to see what he’s looking at.

Hoosier has made it to the mess hall finally, but instead of joining their table he’s sitting cross-legged with his head buried in the fur of Larkin. Larkin’s a mutt with black and white splotches on her long fur, ostensibly she’s the company mascot, but everyone knows she’s Hoosier’s dog. He was the one who rescued her from the streets, and the one who named her Larkin after a drill instructor Leckie had developed an ongoing feud with during their basic training. At the moment she’s sprawled halfway in Hoosier’s lap, a look of contented bliss on her face as he expertly tugs at one of her ears.

Of course Chuckler has noticed something’s going on. On the surface Hoosier’s still his old self, biting and sarcastic, reckless and impatient during training exercises, with an uncanny instinct for sensing tipping points and exploiting them, but they all know that something’s changed.

“Give him some time,” Runner advises, and Leckie doesn’t like the sympathy in his eyes, “it’s probably hitting him harder.”

“Time, yeah.” Leckie mutters, feeling as impatient as Hoosier on the sunbaked hillside that morning. Time is one thing none of them have.

  
  


They’re woken up in the middle of the night for theory lectures. The training camp does it on purpose: The Kaiju don’t have a schedule so neither do they. They’re expected to be ready to act at all hours of the day and night, on little sleep and less free time. At least it’s not a forced march, Leckie consoles himself as he pulls a sweatshirt over his head and follows the others to the lecture hall.

They slip into seats next to the rest of Hal Company. Above them a fan whirls lazily, doing nothing to stir up the heavy air. The room is filled with badly stifled yawns and boots scuffing as the trainees take their places. Hoosier presses close to him to let another group pass down the cramped aisle, then immediately scoots to the edge of his seat to put as much distance between them as possible. Leckie pretends not to notice and forces himself to concentrate on what the lecturer is saying.

The lecture is on the neuroscience behind the drift, what little they understand of it. Professor Mori speaks of initial compatibility as a sort of pattern recognition, mirrored constellations of connections that become active when drift compatible individuals meet; like recognizing like. They learn about synapse formation, about neural networks and parallel pathways, how the wiring in a Jaeger mimics the neurons in a human brain. Leckie finds himself leaning forward, his chin resting on his fist, fascinated, as she explains the vast number of questions they still don’t have answers for.

The lecture turns to the psychological effects of the drift, about the vulnerability and intimacy it requires from the participants. Drift compatibility is only the first step, it’s the work after that’s important. The drift isn’t a static thing, it’s built in concert between two pilots, no two drifts between any pair of pilots are alike. Most potential co-pilots fail at this stage, they never find the trust to let themselves fall into each other. On a hunch Leckie looks over. Hoosier is rigid in the dark next to him, hands clenched into fists on his knees.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And with that he’s gone, leaving Leckie to stare up at the roof of the tent and wonder what the hell they’re even doing here, because he knows as well as if he told the lie himself that Hoosier is lying through his teeth.

_Jaeger Pilot Training Camp_

_Pearl Harbor, February 1942_

The weeks speed past, an endless litany of physical drills, sparring, and tactical exercises interspersed with advanced neuroscience, nuclear physics, and exobiology; honing reflexes essential to surviving the brutal, chaotic battles faced by Jaeger pilots, and learning to work together in drift pairs, squads, and larger platoons. They’re all so exhausted they barely have the energy to tease each other any more. Leckie knows their teamwork has never been more fluid. Sometimes he wonders if they don’t already share a drift, reading each other’s intentions without having to hear them, knowing exactly when and where they’re needed. All the same, he can’t help but dread the deadline looming ahead of them.

The Jaeger-sims are online now and training with them is set to begin in earnest, the final tests are only weeks away. Only the best of the best will be sent to the front lines to become Jaeger pilots, the rest of them will be sent into support functions, or worse become spares; pilots without a partner waiting to plug the gaps in the front line, and probably split up all over the globe. Not even a month ago, there was no doubt in Leckie’s mind that they would all go to the Jaegers together. Now, it’s all he can do not to actively dread the start of sim training. Hoosier still hasn’t given any of them any hint of what’s going on, only that he doesn’t allow anyone to get within arm’s reach anymore, he stops their every attempt to talk to him in its tracks, and he takes every excuse to avoid spending time with them. Leckie’s only source of comfort is that neither Runner nor Chuckler make any more headway than he does, which means it can’t be solely his fault.

So he won’t drive himself crazy wondering what’s going on, Leckie throws himself into the rest of the training. Their squad is the best at tactical exercises and he knows that’s as much due to himself as to their flawless teamwork. He’s the one with the plan, who can size up a situation in the blink of an eye, who knows instinctively which one of them will be most effective where. There are different ways of knowing people. Chuckler takes care of people, sees when they need help and knows what to do about it. Hoosier knows the exact remark that will tear a person’s ego to shreds, and the perfect words to build them up again. Runner watches and remembers, a favorite food, the movie they wanted to watch; no detail is too small that he won’t surprise you with it sometime down the line.

And Leckie? Leckie knows how to use people. He can’t help thinking bitterly that that’s something he learned from his Dad, how to treat people like tools. It’s easy now, with the only thing at stake his own pride and training points, but he can’t forget that if they make it the distance it’ll be for real, and then he’ll be expected to send his friends into harm’s way.

  
  


The day comes that the Jaeger-sims are finally open for the trainee pilots. There are less than twenty of them left now, their numbers whittled down by the exhausting, unforgiving training regime. The sims are to get them used to controlling a giant robot without actually having a giant robot around to fall on buildings and crush them, but the drift is real. It’s not quite a full drift like in a Jaeger, only about half the connections are formed, but it’s their first taste of what entering the drift will be like.

No one wants an audience for that, and for once their instructors seems to be in full agreement. Each co-pilot pairing is given a separate time and date to come to the sim room for their initiation. Leckie doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry when they get the training schedule and he sees they’re one of the first pairs to go. He looks over at Hoosier who is sitting at the entrance of their tent and resolutely cleaning his rifle like nothing else matters. Annoyance spikes through him, it’s not as if that stupid piece of junk is going to help against a Kaiju. If there really is something between them now would be the time to have it out, before it gets in the way of the drift. Not just sit there and pretend like everything’s going to be alright like Hoosier seems bent on doing. He walks over to stand in front of Hoosier, planting himself in front of him.

“So tomorrow, huh? Think we’re ready for it?”

Hoosier grunts noncommittally, refusing to look up. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Leckie decides to go for the direct question, “What do you think the drift’ll be like?”

“Look, Leckie,” Hoosier sets down his rifle and stands with an impatient sigh, “it’ll be ok, alright? You just control the right side and I’ll control the left. It’s not that deep.” And with that he’s gone, leaving Leckie to stare up at the roof of the tent and wonder what the hell they’re even doing here, because he knows as well as if he told the lie himself that Hoosier is lying through his teeth.

  
  


It’s all Leckie can do the next day to fumble his way into the harness. His fingers feel like they’ve swollen to twice their size and are floating detached from his arm, and his mouth is so dry it feels like he’s trying to swallow cotton swabs. Hoosier, getting into his own harness next to him, shows no sign of suffering from similar problems.

The sim assistant carefully lowers the cranial interface band onto his head and tightens it. Leckie wrinkles his forehead at the sticky-cold feeling of conductor gel. He squares his shoulders and places his hands on the Jaeger controls, and waits for the sim to begin. The assistant leaves, and the sim room goes dark for a few seconds before the computers hum to life around them. Leckie looks over and sees Hoosier’s face, pale in the blue glow of the screens, then the sim kicks in and his vision goes bright white.

When his brain adjusts to the neural input feed he’s standing in the pilot room of a Jaeger. It’s more cramped than he was expecting it to be, with reinforced steel bulkheads running around it to stop things like giant alien lizards from tearing into it. It even smells, a mix of metal, motor oil, and sweat. His throat tightens slightly in an unpleasant way; it smells exactly like his Dad’s garage back home.

A voice comes over the comm, “Initiating drift in 3…2…1. Prepare for neural handshake.”

Memories slip by liquidly, blending into each other. Scratching his initials into the bottom bunk he shared with his older brother. The blue door of the house they moved into when he was six. His knee scraped and bleeding after a fall from his bike. The memories speed up, edges bleeding together. Faces he can’t quite put names to, the smell of newspaper ink, the clack-clack of typewriter keys, a hand tight around his wrist.

Now the memories of another are interspersed with his own. Blisters sting from unfamiliar work, sweat runs down his aching back. A train car rattles through endless fields, horizon disappearing into a darkening grey sky. A suspension bridge arcs across an unfamiliar skyline. A girl maybe sixteen or so looks over her shoulder at him, she has Hoosier’s blond hair and the same smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. Instinctively Leckie starts after her, trying to keep a hold on the memory.

“Initiate walking sequence, initiate walking sequence!”

A distant part of him registers the voice coming through the comm. They’re in a Jaeger - supposed to be in a Jaeger - and they have a job to do. He forces his arms to move, to grasp the controls in front of him.

“Hoos?”

“Let’s get on with it.” Hoosier’s voice is strained, like he’s in pain or at some other physical limit. Immediately, Leckie focuses on him, trying to find out what’s wrong. It’s a mistake. The memories swirl together so he no longer knows which way is right side up, he catches at anything familiar, trying to orient himself amid the chaotic piecemeal glimpses, but it’s like Hoosier’s fighting him, yanking away footholds as soon as Leckie finds them.

He feels their hearts racing synchronously, their breaths coming faster and shallower, and pushes away lightheadedness. Without warning the memories become much more recent, vivid with detail. Runner laughing at a crack Hoos made off of Leckie’s set up. The first time Chuckler slung an arm around Hoosier’s shoulders in the mess line, his surprise and pleasure that someone could so casually show affection. Leckie’s own face grinning lopsidedly over a map drawn in red dirt, a mutual spark of understanding running between them like a live wire.

Hoosier slams down on the connection. Leckie feels his - their - hearts skip a beat, and his vision goes dark. The sim crumbles, and the world turns upside down. When Leckie’s mind is his own again he’s dangling with his feet above his head, trussed up like a turkey in his harness, he can hear Hoosier cursing next to him and guesses he’s in a similar position. With a soft whirring of electric motors the pods right themselves, Leckie finds his feet and starts to undo the straps, fingers shaking. He’s almost free when Hoosier slips out of his own harness and strides out the door without a backward look.

  
  


Runner and Chuckler are sympathetic the next morning, but there’s not much they can offer in the way of advice that Leckie wants to hear. He’s pushing his eggs around his plate when a runner comes from HQ with a message for Leckie. He glances at it, then holds it out for Runner, who reads it, holding it so Chuckler can look over his shoulder, it’s a date and time for a sim session.

“Come on,” Runner says, kicking at Leckie’s ankle under the table, “this is good. They’re giving you a second chance.”

“Yeah, if Hoos shows up for it.” Leckie mutters, they still haven’t spoken since that disaster of a sim. Hoosier came back long after the rest of them went to bed and was gone before any of them had the chance to speak to him. He diverts the conversation before they can ask him any more questions. “How did your sim go?”

They exchange a glance, and he can tell they’re communicating silently about what to tell him. “It went alright,” Chuckler says finally, “a few hiccups but we managed to control the Jaeger for a bit. I see what they say about the drift, though, I wasn’t too fond of it myself.” He shudders slightly, his eyes on his plate.

Runner nods, “Give it time. No one’s first drift goes like they expect it to, and I have the feeling Hoos is dealing with something the rest of us aren’t.”

Leckie stares at his cold plate of uneaten eggs. It’s not fair, but he can help but think if Hoosier really cared about being in the Jaeger program he would tell them what’s going on so they could help him. He barely notices Chuckler’s light touch on his arm.

“Eat something, Lucky. Drills are starting in a few minutes.”

  
  


The days go by in a blur, like a broken drift. Leckie finds himself too miserable to bother sorting them into distinct memories. Sometimes he can convince himself he’s still making forward progress on the way to becoming a Jaeger pilot. He has no problem keeping up with even the toughest theoretical concepts in the lectures. Sparring sessions, tactical exercises, anything with the four of them or a larger group all come more and more naturally, but it all falls apart in the sims.

No matter how hard they try, they can’t keep a drift up for longer than a few seconds. Worse, he’s starting to get the feeling that Hoosier is - intentionally or unintentionally - sabotaging them. He knows they’re slipping in the rankings, being left behind by the other pilots. No other team is having this much difficulty in the drift. In the end it won’t matter how well they work together outside, all it comes down to is if they can pilot a Jaeger together.

He finds himself unable to sleep even in the scant hours they’re allowed at this stage of training, lying awake fighting his growing fear. They’ll be lucky to be made spares at this point, and Runner and Chuckler will be left to battle the Kaiju on their own, with strangers on their wing.

  
  


It’s after yet another failed sim session that he finally snaps. As usual, Hoosier is first out of his harness, preparing to run off to wherever he disappears to these days. This time, instead of letting him go, Leckie rips free of his own buckles and catches up to him in a few strides. He grabs Hoosier’s arm, spinning him back around to face him.

“Why don’t you just quit?” He hisses, and Hoosier flinches as if he’s been struck, tugging at Leckie’s hold. Leckie keeps his grip, “You want out, then get out, put us all out of our misery. You’ll never have to see me again, that’s what you want isn’t it?” Hoosier looks like he wants to say something, but Leckie pushes past him before he gets the chance. He takes a vindictive pleasure in being the one to walk away for once.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thinks about how Hoosier watches him when the four of them are together, the way his smile lights up just before Leckie reaches the end of a joke, as if he knows the punchline before Leckie says it, the effortless flow of matching each other move for move in sparring, the way Hoos anticipates and builds on his strategy during drills.

_Jaeger Pilot Training Camp_

_Pearl Harbor, March 1942_

When the summons comes from HQ he suspects the worst, but at the same time he almost welcomes it, an ending to this unrelenting series of failures would be a relief at this point. He makes the trek across camp the next morning with a tightening knot in his stomach, half wondering if he should already pack his seabag. Admiral Pentecost, a sternly handsome black man with closely cropped, greying hair, stands behind his desk as Leckie enters. To his surprise, Professor Mori, their neuropsychology lecturer is also present, standing slightly to the side as if observing them. She gives him a tiny nod, but it’s clear the Admiral is in charge of the conversation.

“Private,” he motions for Leckie to stand at ease, “I’ve been reviewing your sim scores. They’re not what I was expecting.”

Leckie swallows a lump the size of a tennis ball and forces himself to reply, “Yes sir.”

Pentecost sighs, turning slightly to look out the window to his view of the Pacific, he seems lost in thought. “Reality doesn’t always match up with our expectations. We learn that lesson harshly as Jaeger pilots. Still, I admit I’m disappointed, the four of you were by far some of the most promising candidates this year.” He pauses, and Leckie waits for him to continue, not trusting himself to speak.

“What I’m about to offer isn’t something I’ve ever done before, Frankly, I’ve never had the chance to - your situation is unique in that it allows you this opportunity. I’m willing to reassign you as a triplet team with Juergens and Connolly, the three of you would train as a team in our three-armed Jaeger. As you know, it’s been out of commission since the last triplet team was lost.”

Leckie’s throat goes dry, “What about Hoos- Smith?” He asks.

The admiral’s gaze is unrelenting, “Your theory scores are higher.”

“And if I don’t take the offer we’ll both be kicked out?”

“Not necessarily. Both of your scores are high enough, you could still theoretically make up the difference and place in the Jaeger pilots’ category. But it’s unlikely, and impossible if the two of you don’t manage to resolve your problems in the drift. This chance we’re offering - it would be a near certainty. No one else can pilot a three arm Jaeger, there would be virtually no competition as long as you made it through the final tests.”

For a moment - damn him - Leckie is tempted to accept the offer. He knows he could make it through the sims with Runner and Chuckler; the three of them would make a fantastic team. And he realizes he doesn’t want it. He thinks about how Hoosier watches him when the four of them are together, the way his smile lights up just before Leckie reaches the end of a joke, as if he knows the punchline before Leckie says it, the effortless flow of matching each other move for move in sparring, the way Hoos anticipates and builds on his strategy during drills. And he knows Hoosier is the one he wants next to him in the Jaeger.

“I’ll stick with my co-pilot.” He says, and it might just be the dumbest thing he’s ever done.

Pentecost’s raised eyebrows certainly seem to indicate he thinks so. “Very well. You’re dismissed.”

Leckie’s halfway down the hall when he’s stopped by someone calling his name and turns to see Professor Mori come after him. He registers vague surprise, in his turmoil he almost forgot she was also in the room.

“Private, before I came to the Jaeger program I studied neural plasticity, I’m sure you remember what that means.”

“Just what you’ve taught us, Professor.”

A smile ghosts across her face, “It’s the process by which our brains form new connections, how we learn and adapt to new environments, how we form memories and integrate our experiences into our sense of self. The most important finding we’ve made during my career as a researcher is that this process is deliberate.” She pauses, staring at him as if expecting him to connect the dots. Leckie shakes his head slightly, baffled and she supplies, “When you learn a new song, when you set a name to a face - that’s a conscious choice you make. And what’s the best way to get lyrics to stick?”

“Sing the song twenty times?” Leckie guesses, only partly trying to sound like a smart ass.

“Practice, yes. In a way, you’re at a disadvantage. Did you know almost half of our co-pilot pairs are siblings? And a significant number of the rest have known each other for years before they ever joined the program. That’s years of knowing each other and learning to trust each other, long before they ever entered a drift.”

He’s not sure what she’s getting at, so he mumbles some sort of response, looking at the wall behind her.

“Think about it,” she says with a nod, and walks off.

  
  


Leckie walks back to their tent in a sort of numb trance. He might have just thrown away his one chance at becoming a Jaeger pilot. To his surprise Hoosier’s in the tent, bent over the chest that stores his belongings. Leckie freezes in the entrance, unsure of what to say. His earlier harsh words in the sim center come back to him, and now he can’t seem to find the words to make it right. Before he can try, Hoosier ducks past him, leaving the tent as if he can’t bear to be alone with Leckie. 

For a moment Leckie considers going after him, then something inside him breaks and he turns deliberately in the opposite direction. He lets his mind wander, not paying attention to where his feet are taking him. What he wants is a drink, and to not see anyone for a few hours. Privacy is in short supply, but he can manage that with a bit of luck; booze is going to be a bit harder. Drinking is discouraged since it makes it harder for the brain to form a drift, and the weak beer available through official channels will hardly be enough to get him buzzed let alone properly drunk like he wants. Hard spirits are banned pretty much everywhere on the island, which of course means the recruits have gotten especially creative and sneaky. Ordinarily, if he wanted contraband Leckie would go to Hoosier, but that is definitely not an option at the moment.

The tent he seeks out is also in Hal Company’s section, a few rows down from his own. A scrawny guy Leckie knows by sight and from some mutual training exercises is practicing card tricks with a pack of old playing cards. “Gibson,” Leckie greets him and the guy jumps, cards spurting out of his hands, “what’s the special?” 

“Does this have anything to do with the fact that you just got summoned to HQ?” Gibson asks from where he’s scrabbling after the errant cards.

Leckie stoops and grabs a card that’s about to be blown further down the tent aisle, “None of your business. You got anything or not?”. Gibson takes the card and squints up at him. “Sure. I have some forty proof the boys down at the shipyards have been brewing up.”

“Go on.”

“I swear it, lit some on fire to test it.”

“What’s it made out of?” Leckie doesn’t bother to keep his nose from wrinkling, he’s heard the stories about the moonshiners down at the main harbor.

Gibson snorts, “Best not to ask. You want a bottle?”

“Please.” 

After a few minutes of bartering he leaves with a repurposed preserves jar wrapped in a not so discreet paper bag, and minus his week’s ration of cigarettes. He doesn’t smoke a whole lot anyway, they’re more useful as bartering tools. His next quest is for privacy to drink his troubles away. At this time of day the camp is humming with activity; recruits going to and from training exercises, clerks running missives from one office to another, support personnel ferrying equipment around, which is how he ends up sneaking in to the dilapidated bathrooms at the back of the garbage heap. 

It’s pretty much the foulest place in the camp, sewer stench and rotting kitchen scraps mingling in the stale air. No one goes in there voluntarily, it’s better to run across camp to use the other newer toilets. It should be the perfect place for a bout of self-pity, except when he knocks the door open with his shoulder someone’s already in one of the stalls. He stands there, listening to the sound of a person scrubbing hard at a toilet, and wonders if the universe really is conspiring against him. 

The toilet scrubber finishes and sticks his head out of the stall. “This place is hopping today,” he says, seeing Leckie.

“Most popular spot in town.” Leckie doesn’t bother hiding the bag, Philips is one of Gibson’s tent mates, so at least he can be trusted to keep his mouth shut.

“Latrine duty,” Sid brandishes his brush like it isn’t obvious what he’s doing.

“Again?” He doesn’t bother to ask what the guy’s been doing to pull punishment duty for the second time in as many weeks, he should probably try a little harder not to get caught, though. He debates going outside, but the bathroom is in full view of the obstacle course and Dog Company’s training there at the moment.

Instead he leans against the grimy wall and takes sips from the bottle as Sid continues his latrine inspection. The moonshine burns going down and leaves a foul-tasting film clinging to his tongue. It would be a real shame if he went blind. 

Philips finishes scrubbing the last toilet and straightens with a sigh of relief. Wordlessly, Leckie offers him the bottle. Philips stares at it uncertainly, his eyes glancing towards the door as if one of their sergeants is going to come bursting in at any moment.

“I know it’s not the most glamorous place but ask yourself this. If not now, when?" He shakes the bottle invitingly in Sid’s face, “You won’t get so many chances for a drink when a Kaiju’s trying to pick your brain out through the nose of a Jaeger.”

“You sure know how to show a guy a good time.” Sid accepts the bottle and takes a tentative sip, sputtering as the alcohol hits. “So, who’re you hiding from?” He wipes his mouth on his sleeve and hands Leckie back the bottle. 

“Who says I’m hiding.”

“You’re day drinking in a bathroom with an almost stranger.” 

“We’re friends,” Leckie says, affronted.

“Not illegal drinking buddies.”

“That’s cause you’re not drinking.” Leckie takes another, longer swig. It’s going down easier now, there’s a pleasant warmth spreading underneath his breast bone. “It’s no fun drinking alone. Can’t- can’t pilot a Jaeger alone, can’- can’t drink alone.”

“I thought you were one of those teetotalers, didn’t think you’d be one to risk your Jaeger wings.”

“Fuck that.” Leckie presses the bottle to his lips, he has to tilt it way back before anything comes out. “I’m not gonna be a pilot. Gonna be shipped out somewhere to some fucking sea wall and wait for a fucking Godzilla to come and eat me.” 

He slides down the wall, ends up sprawled out on the floor. Sid leans over him, his arms crossed, “I feel like I should call someone to come take you away.”

“Think it’s possible to be drift compatible but not compatible?” Leckie asks, he clinks the rim of the glass against his teeth, “Does that even make sense?” 

“Are you asking me for relationship advice?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe. This was supposed to be simple.” Sid squats so he’s on the same level as Leckie, eases the jar out of his grip. “You know I was sure I was going to be co-pilots with my best friend from Mobile?”

“What happened? Not drift compatible?” 

“Never got to find out. He couldn’t join - heart murmur,” he shrugs, “guess I know a thing or two about mourning what might have been.”

“I thought we were talking about my issues.” 

“My point is that nothing about this is ever going to be simple. You can’t just expect things to fall into place without doing anything about it.”

“I’d rather stay here and feel sorry for myself. You got another drink on you?” Sid stares at him and snorts out a laugh, “Look at us. I’m taking you back to your tent, pretend you’re sick if we run into anyone.” 

He helps Leckie stagger back to the H Company barracks. The tent is mercifully empty and Leckie curls up on his bunk and goes to sleep. 

  
  


When he wakes up, Hoosier is standing over him, lip curled in disgust. “Pathetic.”

Leckie pushes himself upright, winces as a headache makes itself known, “What?”

“You smell like a toilet. What are you thinking, day drinking right in the middle of the sims? You’ll get drummed out if they catch you.”

“That’s what you want isn’t it?” Leckie shoots back, “You wanna be the spare and never see me again, is that it? Wanna leave Chuckler and Runner out there with no one on their wing?”

“Leave them out of it.” Hoosier snaps and turns like he’s going to walk out.

“No wait,” Leckie says, standing unsteadily. He almost reaches for Hoosier’s wrist but stops himself with a stab of guilt, remembering the way he grabbed him yesterday. “Stop shutting me out, Hoos. What’s really going on? It’s like you're scared to go in the drift.”

“I’ve got it figured out.” Hoosier says, but at least he hasn’t left again.

“That’s not how that works and you know it. Is it something you’re afraid of me seeing? ‘Cause there’s an episode with Susan Greene in 10th grade you’ve got to promise me you’ll skip over if you ever stumble on it.”

Hoosier snorts, dropping down next to Leckie. “You embarrassing yourself isn’t shocking, trust me. What happened, fall on your face in front of her?”

“Only metaphorically.” Leckie says in his loftiest tones, and Hoosier shoves him off the bed in retaliation. Leckie props himself up on an elbow, still on the floor.

“So what is it then?”

“Leckie,” Hoosier’s jaw clenches as if he’s fighting with himself, his eyes skitter away from Leckie’s “I don’t know if I can do this.”

A block of ice settles in the pit of Leckie’s stomach, he hadn’t allowed himself to believe it was this bad. Now he wonders if he simply didn’t want to see the truth, if he made a terrible mistake in turning down Pentecost’s offer. “What is it?” He whispers.

“I - there’s something wrong with me,” Hoosier tugs at his hair, making his blond hair stand up in spikes. It’s an easy tell for his frustration, and Leckie knows to stay silent, to give him space to search for the right words. “I didn’t want you to know but I don’t - I don’t feel things like other people. Like you do.”

Leckie thinks back to the scattered moments of drift they were able to establish before Hoos shut him out, there was something off about them that he had marked before, but hadn’t been able to put into words. He’s starting to put together an idea about it now.

The most common white rabbits are faces, people with whom the pilot has formed an emotional bond, Leckie’s own memories are filled with glimpses of his parents, of his old friend Vera, of his siblings, but Hoosier’s are different, the only faces Leckie saw were hazy; distant memories. A woman with the same lopsided smile Hoos sometimes wears, a man with mechanics grease smeared across his cheek, the girl with blond hair. He realizes Hoosier has never once talked about his family, there are no pictures hanging above his bunk like the rest of them have.

“Where did you say your folks are from again?” He asks, sitting carefully so there’s still space between them.

“I didn’t.” Hoosier says steadily, but his fingers tremble slightly as they fold pleats into the edge of Leckie’s worn blanket. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing it, “It’s not a secret - I just didn’t want people getting the wrong idea. My Da’ worked on the wall, me and my mom and my older sister used to follow him around wherever the work was. Stayed in rundown apartments with no heat or water, or with friends who’d take us in for a while. We’d take odd jobs when we could, just enough to put food on the table and maybe pay the rent once or twice before they kicked us out for falling behind.” His mouth curls in an ironic smile.

Leckie waits silently, the way Hoosier talks about them there can only be one way this story ends.

“When I was - I don’t know - thirteen, fourteen? Da’ took a job down in Halifax, sinking foundations for the sea wall. They were laying Kaiju mines out in the deep waters, trying everything they could think of for a defense. A cargo boat caught fire and drifted into one of the stockpiles, twenty tons of explosives. Flattened the whole waterfront like matchsticks and took out most of the wall along the harbor.”

“Shit,” Leckie breathes, and Hoosier glances swiftly at him and away again.

“Ma’ had just asked me to get a bag of potatoes from the cellar. I think I waited a day, maybe more for them to move the debris and rescue me. I’ve been alone since then, traveling around and never staying anywhere long enough to make it worthwhile to get to know anyone. It’s easier to keep people at a distance if you know you’re not going to stick around anyway. Guess I just sort of got used to being on my own at some point. And as I got older folks started wanting things from me I couldn’t give.”

“Wanting things - how?”

Hoos snorts out a soft laugh, “I don’t know, I guess just being close? I don’t even mean like in the drift, I mean physically. I’ve never been with someone,” he falters and rushes on, “although I know pretty much everyone our age has been. And it’s not just from lack of opportunity or being scared, I just never wanted to.”

Leckie shifts on the bed, trying to get a better look at Hoosier’s face, he’s hunched forward defensively and it’s difficult to see his expression. “And you thought we’d what - judge you for that? You don’t need to explain yourself to anyone, least of all any of us. You know you don’t have to be what anyone expects you to be.”

“People expect me to pilot a Jaeger,” Hoosier shoots back, “they expect me to share everything I am with another person. What if something in my brain doesn’t work the way it should, what if I can’t make that connection?”

Leckie raises an eyebrow, “Take it from someone who has some experience with this kind of stuff,” Hoosier snorts, “sex doesn’t guarantee some sort of deep connection. You know how many people I’ve slept with for one night and then never seen again, and never cared one way or the other? They’re just strangers I pass by on the street without a second thought. You know who I do care about? Chuckler and Runner - and you, Hoos,” he shoves him lightly. “You’re the ones I would miss if you left and didn’t come back. With or without the drift, there was something absent in my life before you guys ever walked into it, and now I just have a name for the missing pieces, that’s all.”

“Alright,” Hoosier bumps their shoulders together, “enough, you’re making me blush. Just– do me a favor, let’s not tell the other two about any of this for now?” He must sense Leckie’s hesitation, because he hurries on, “Until I’ve figured out how to talk about it.”

“It’s your decision,” Leckie agrees, “I’m sure they’d understand, though.”

“You think?,” Hoosier gives him a crooked smile, “I’m not sure I do, myself.”


	4. Chapter 4

_Jaeger Pilot Training Camp_

_Pearl Harbor, March 1942_

He’s mostly recovered from whatever was in that horrible concoction Gibson sold him as moonshine by morning, which is good, because their next sim is one of the first slots of the day. It’s hard not to feel nervous after so many disastrous attempts as he adjusts the cranium band, and impossible to tell what Hoosier is thinking right now as he checks his own equipment. He was up and out before the rest of them again this morning, which Leckie tells himself firmly not to take as a bad sign. However much their conversation last night gave him to think about, it had to have been exponentially more exhausting for Hoosier.

He glances sideways and grins when he catches Hoos doing the same thing, “Easiest thing in the world, huh?.”

“Like walking on glass.” Hoosier says, but there’s no real bite to the words.

The countdown begins and Leckie lets the now-familiar sluice of memories wash over him, maybe it’s just wishful thinking but he has the impression that their flow is calmer, less frenetic than they were when they drifted before. It’s easier to push his focus past them to the interior of the Jaeger and the job at hand. They’re still focused on motor control, with little simulated environment past the confines of the Jaeger in order to not overwhelm them with sensory input.

A voice comes over the comms, “Defensive position. Close combat drill sequence at half-speed. Start on your own mark.”

Leckie senses Hoosier shift posture beside him, can feel his hands adjusting their grip on the controls and the muscles in his legs tensing, just as he knows Hoosier can feel the same adjustments in Leckie’s own body. It’s a crucial part of how pilots are able to act in unison, on shared instinct and feeling.

The Jaeger drops into a defensive crouch, arms up in preparation for the next series of blocks and blows. They get through the first couple of cycles, movements becoming more confident and fluid as they go on without a mistake. He’s not sure when it goes wrong - of course it does - one moment they’re shifting back to regain their stance and that must trigger a muscle memory, because the next he’s stepping away from base plate with a foul ball bouncing off his bat and his father is turning away in what Leckie can’t tell is disappointment or disinterest.

He tries to start forward, tries to call out, unaware he’s following the rabbit. The drift slips further into his memories, dinners eaten in silence, the garage where his dad tinkered with his car, turning away from Leckie’s questions as if they never existed. And then they’re in the dark by a train station and his father is kneeling in the slush next to his car and Leckie’s standing behind him, forgotten, with words of goodbye sticking in his throat.

All he can think about is that Hoosier can’t see this, because it’s embarrassing that a grown man can be hurt by his dad ignoring him and he shoves the memory away as hard as he can. The drift shifts around them and Leckie finds himself balanced on a swaying plank dizzyingly high above the ground on some sort of construction rig. Hoosier’s ten maybe twelve in this memory and he sits next to a broad-shouldered man in grease-stained coveralls who keeps an arm protectively in front of him even as they both dangle their feet over the drop.

He just has time to wonder if this is Hoosier’s own dad before the drift ruptures around them and Leckie is pitched into the empty air, tilting and falling. The sim shuts off abruptly, and the sudden snap back to reality is enough to make him want to faint. He lets himself hang in the harness, allowing the disappointment to seep through him, hears Hoosier undoing his harness without making a move to remove his own. He fully expects Hoosier to remove his equipment and leave just like he did all those other times, so he’s more than a little surprised by the rough whisper close to his ear.

“C’mon,” Hoosier murmurs, starting to pick at the buckles of Leckie’s harness, “you gonna just dangle there all day?”

Leckie snorts, amused in spite of himself, and hurries to undo the other straps. Hoosier puts a shoulder under Leckie’s arm, supporting him as they step out into bright Pacific sunlight so intense it’s almost painful. Leckie’s brain still thinks it’s free falling, but he manages to keep his feet until they’re out of sight of the sim room operators before the vertigo overtakes him and he has to drop on all fours right there at the edge of the path.

After a moment Hoosier sinks to a crouch next to him, hands tugging at fistfuls of his blond hair. “I’m sorry, Leckie. I thought things would be different now.” “

I’m not sure it was your fault this time.” Leckie says hoarsely, still trembling, “I’m the one who chased the rabbit.”

Hoosier doesn’t ask about that particular rabbit, just like Leckie suspects he doesn’t want to talk about what might be his last clear memory of his father. He doesn’t know whether it’s because Hoos understands the meaning behind all those silences and lost words, but he stays right next to Leckie and doesn’t leave, and for now that’s a start.

  
  


So this is what progress looks like; two steps forward, one step back - or a leap sideways into something they didn’t even know was going to be an issue. It’s slow and frustrating and Leckie wonders all the time if it will be enough in the end. He takes it as a good sign they’ve progressed to Kaiju-fighting scenarios in the sims. The pace of their training is growing more and more intense, something which Leckie hadn’t thought possible, and they’re finally shown the news broadcasts again after months of being kept in the dark.

Greyscale reels of ruined cities and the twisted carcasses of defeated Jaegers flicker across the screen, reminding Leckie absurdly of the drift. The worst are the refugees waiting for transport to comparative safety inland. Leckie finds himself leaning closer every time the camera pans through the crowd searching every shell-shocked, exhausted face, unsure whether he’s clinging to some sort of strange hope, or dreading the shock of recognition.

This is what failure looks like, not a lowered score on a rankings board, or being drummed out of training so close to the finish line, but tens of thousands homeless, lost and afraid; thousands dead beneath the rubble. He sees them over and over again in his dreams, wakes up as quietly as possible and slips out of the tent to let the cool dawn breeze dry the sweat from his skin. The only person he can’t hide it from is Hoosier, but by mutual agreement they don’t talk about it. It’s too close to the symptoms of mental distress, and trainee pilots have gotten drummed out for less. There’s a difference between a shared silence and a hanging one that Leckie is learning to appreciate. One you have to fill before it drowns you, the other buoys you up so you float effortlessly.

The answer to his continued worries about the drift comes from what should not be an unexpected quarter. Leckie is slumped against the table one evening with his face in the crook of his arm, half falling asleep in his dinner plate when Runner jabs him with a fork. “Skewer the chicken, not me.” Leckie grumbles, propping himself up on an elbow to glare blearily at Runner.

“How’re the sims going for you guys?” Runner asks, unperturbed by Leckie’s glare. The rankings are closed this near to the final test, so pilots can only go off of their own evaluation of their performances.

“He doesn’t look that bad,” Hoosier says with a considering look, “at least no worse than usual. Or why do you ask?”

“Final test is in a few days, why wouldn’t I ask?” Runner says with a crooked smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and which makes Leckie straighten up and give him his full attention, “Something’s bothering Chuckler and he won’t tell me what.”

“Bad news from home?,” Hoosier guesses with a quick glance behind him to make sure Chuckler is still out of earshot, “He got a letter in the last mail delivery.”

Runner gives a tiny shrug, “I don’t know whether to just ask him outright or give him space.”

“We didn’t realize,” Leckie says ruefully, exchanging a glance with Hoosier. It’s a question all of the Jaeger teams are wrestling with in one form or another. What secrets are you allowed to keep, and how do you tell the ones you can’t: What does it mean to carve out a place for yourself in the drift?

Inexplicably, or perhaps very naturally, knowing Runner and Chuckler are facing their own struggles is immensely comforting. It means he and Hoosier maybe aren’t such outliers after all, and more importantly it means they can face this together after all. The Jaeger might be piloted by teams of two, but their strongest formation, the one Leckie would set his bet on against all odds, is the four of them together.

He leans forward, noting how the other two lean in as well, as if they can already sense the scheme forming in his brain. “We’ll need to get Chuckler in on this,” he begins.

  
  


The next night the four of them camp out on the roof of the observatory. Above them the Milky Way glitters in a broad band, and the cold sparks of more remote stars are scattered across the night sky, every now and then a low orbit satellite blinks overhead. It’s a perfect night, not too humid and with enough of a breeze to push the bugs away. They eat waxy chocolate from the camp store and point out pictures in the stars to each other, some are constellations they knew from stories growing up, others they invent right there.

They also play spin the bottle like they’re at a middle school sleepover. To be fair, it’s not exactly spin the bottle, and it is in fact a pretty good idea. It was Chuckler who thought it up, as a way to let them all, especially Hoosier, get more comfortable being in the drift. If they’re meant to reveal their weakest, most embarrassing moments to each other through a neural connection, then it makes sense to first practice being vulnerable in a more familiar way. Start small and work up to the big stuff, just like Professor Mori said.

The ‘spin the bottle’ part is Runner’s idea of a humorous twist on an otherwise solid plan. With a sigh, Leckie flicks the spent paintball casing, setting it spinning on the concrete rooftop. It stops, pointing at Runner.

“Again?” He raises his hands defensively, “I’m running out of confessions here.”

Chuckler pokes him in the arm, “We know you’re holding out on us, that’s why.”

Runner sighs, eyes flicking up to the stars as if looking for inspiration. “Did I ever tell you about the time I let my brother’s rabbit escape? I had it out to play with it and it got loose and we never found it.” his voice fades away.

“My Da used to hunt rabbits, before we started following the wall crews.” Hoosier volunteers unexpectedly, “Ma would clean them and cook them up for Sunday dinner, it was the only meat we could afford most of the time.”

“Where are your folks from, anyway?” Runner asks curiously and Hoosier shrugs. “Don’t really have any.”

“No folks, huh? That’s rough.” Chuckler says, and Hoosier catches Leckie’s eye. So far he hasn’t discussed his family with anyone besides Leckie.

“We got caught up in a mine-laying accident in Halifax.” He ducks his head, and Leckie can practically see his defenses going up, “It was a long time ago. I barely remember it.”

Chuckler speaks up, his face more solemn than any of them are used to. “It’s not the same thing, but I sort of disowned my family to join the pilot school.”

“You write your parents all the time,” Runner frowns, “you read me letters from your mom.”

“Yeah, but my last name isn’t Juergens, that’s her maiden name.”

“So you have a secret identity like Superman? What’s your real name Clark Kent?”

“Lois Lane.”

“Flash Gordon.”

“That’s not a secret identity.”

Chuckler shakes his head, “I’m not telling so don’t ask, you’d recognize it immediately which is why I left it behind. Let’s just say my father was pretty involved in setting up the Corps and developing the first Jaegers. I didn’t want people to think that’s why I got in, I wanted to prove I can stand on my own two feet.”

Runner nods, his lips pursed thoughtfully, “What made you decide to try out for Jaeger Corps?”

“Something to prove, I guess,” Chuckler says, shoulders relaxing slightly, “why does anyone do anything that dumb otherwise? Only lately I’m not sure if it’s to myself or to my old man.”

Runner motions for Hoosier to spin the bottle. “C’mon, you’ve earned this round.”

The bottle lands on Leckie, who intentionally goes for something more lighthearted to ease the mood. “I ran the relationship advice column for the local paper. Everyone thought they were writing to Ms. Matilda Greaves the fifty year old agony aunt for two years.”

“That explains more than it doesn’t.” Runner murmurs.

“He does sound like an agony aunt sometimes.” Hoosier says, and Leckie flicks a chocolate wrapper at him. The game draws on, none of them caring much about the late hour. Gradually the tension bleeds out of Chuckler’s posture, Runner’s smile becomes less guarded, Hoosier shifts to lean closer to the three of them. Leckie feels the knot he’s been carrying in his chest for what feels like weeks begin to loosen.

It’s easy to remember a time before he knew them - it’s been less than a year since they met after all - but it’s almost impossible to imagine a future without them now. Being with them is like picking out patterns in the night sky, like this is what his brain is wired for.

At last, Chuckler insists they wrap up so they can get at least a few hours sleep, and sets the bottle spinning for a final round. To their surprise, Hoosier reaches out and stops the bottle so it’s pointing at himself.

“I wish I could make tonight last forever”

There’s a sad edge to his smile that Leckie understands immediately, because this feels like a beginning, but it could just as well be an ending: The future has monsters in it, and they don’t know what tomorrow will bring. They really, really don’t.


	5. Chapter 5

_Jaeger Pilot Training Camp_

_Pearl Harbor, April 1942_

Admiral Pentecost tosses a coin to determine which team will go into the sim first. Runner and Chuckler draw the first slot, followed by Philips and Gibson, then Leckie and Hoosier, and the last two teams. They won’t see each other or any hint of the sim results until each team has gone through and they’re ready to announce the final rankings. Their group draws into the corner away from the others.

“Strike squadrons here we come.” Chuckler whispers, eyes shining.

Runner flashes Leckie a quick smile even as his hands clench and unclench into fists, “I could really use a stiff one right now.”

They smack the top of Leckie’s head - for luck - then the door to the sim room falls shut behind Chuckler and Runner, and just like that it’s down to the two of them. Leckie glances at Hoosier out of the corner of his eye, well aware of how Hoosier is similarly assessing him. “They’ve got this.” He says, trying to sound confident, but he knows the same question is running through Hoosier’s mind, as well. Their drift is stronger now thanks to the work they’ve put in, but they’re still far behind in the rankings. Leckie figures they’ll have to get top scores in the final test to have any chance at staying with the others in the contact squadrons. He can tell the same doubts are running through Hoosier’s mind; he doesn’t look nervous, his hands stuffed casually into his pockets, but Leckie can see a muscle twitching in his jaw. 

Each sim is fifteen minutes long, though the half an hour they have to wait for their turn feels much longer than that. Leckie finds himself drumming his fingers against his knee, trying to find a release to the nervous tension building up inside him. It’s almost a relief when the instructor calls for the next team. 

He forces himself to take his time putting on the harness, methodically pulling each strap into place, and tries to calm his racing thoughts. He settles the cranial interface band and grasps the control bars in front of him and closes his eyes, preparing for the neural input to start.

“Initiating input sequence.” The disembodied voice echoes around him, then there’s the bright flash in his vision, and just like that they’re standing in the cockpit of a Jaeger. He shifts posture slightly, balancing against the slight sway of the Jaeger. The warmth of the reactor is already forming beads of perspiration along his hairline. He hears the hiss and click of pneumatic joints pressurizing, and Hoos breathing quietly next to him. 

“Initiating drift. Prepare for neural handshake in 3…2…1” 

Disjointed memories flash past his eyes, distant laughter and smiling faces, someone yelling, a floral print dress. Even in spite of the extra stress of the final test, Leckie has time to think how much more comfortable the drift feels even now, like a sweater worn to softness. Most of the memories are familiar in some way or another, not only the ones he lived for himself, he recognizes many of Hoosier’s as well, either from the drift or the stories he’s told over the past weeks.

He takes a steadying breath and pushes his focus past the memories, to what the sim is telling him is in front of him. As far as he can make out they’re standing waist deep in the ocean. Cliffs with splashes of red and green moss rise up on their left, the coastal surge is strong enough the Jaeger rocks with the swell, the sea is grey-blue same as the overcast sky and too opaque to see anything below the surface.

Hoosier’s attention is on the water, trying to spot the telltale wake of an approaching Kaiju, so Leckie tries to get a better grip on their general situation. He doesn’t like the look of those cliffs, they could be trapped and crushed against one far too easily with no proper escape path. They begin to walk, pushing the Jaeger through the water, senses alert for the tiniest anomaly in their surroundings. They can’t have gone more than a few steps when Hoosier’s attention suddenly wavers, the drift coming close to collapsing. Shocked, Leckie looks up to see what’s rattled him so badly. They’ve just come around a point, and beyond it in the distance stretches the warped span of a ruined bridge, smoke rising from one end. Hoosier takes another tight breath, Leckie smells fire and beneath it a whiff of something cloyingly sweet.He can’t tell if it’s the sim or Hoosier starting to follow the rabbit, because now in the drift the same bridge is rising in front of them, whole and not on fire. 

“Hoos?” Leckie calls, trying to bring him back to the present moment. He looks around frantically, keeping an eye on the ocean where a Kaiju could come at any moment, still trying to figure out what’s gone wrong this time.

Hoosier stretches out a hand, seemingly unaware of the giant limbs he’s controlling, and the Jaeger staggers forward a step. Leckie grips the controls, barely able to compensate enough to keep them upright. This thing is dangerously close to falling apart, images speed up, flashing past them. Hoosier’s mother, his father. His older sister. All of a sudden, Leckie realizes what’s thrown him so completely.

A jolt of anger surges through him, because this - this is not right. This is using Hoosier’s worst memories against him, things no one should be forced to deal with. Hammer a pilot’s weakest points and see where they break. Almost as if the force of Leckie’s anger has pulled him back, he feels Hoos’ attention waver, and tries to capitalize on it. 

“I’ve got you, Hoos,” he says softly, “it’s Halifax, isn’t it? You told me about it, I know.” Slowly, Hoosier turns his head, his eyes are wet, but he’s no longer following the rabbit. Leckie concentrates fiercely, stitching memories of the four of them together into the drift as it stabilizes around them. 

He looks forward, at where he knows the recorder is sitting in real life, and snarls. “Bastards.”

“They’re going to regret it,” Hoosier murmurs, as a faint vibration thrums in the legs and lower torso of the Jaeger. Both of them recognize the warning signs of an approaching Kaiju, “they better have made this sim accurate.”

For a moment Leckie hesitates, confused as to what Hoosier could possibly mean. Then he understands and has to laugh. If they pull this off it will be as good as marching up to Pentecost and telling him what he thinks to his face. Excitement replaces uncertainty and the Jaeger surges forward under both their commands, luring the Kaiju away from the mouth of the harbor.

It catches up to them just before they reach their goal, by shared instinct the Jaeger crouches and shifts, then a solid mass slams into them knocking the Jaeger back and the world splinters into frothing water and sand, and writhing limbs.

For a moment they flail, caught off guard by the current and unexpected buoyancy, before they regain their feet and push the Kaiju back, not hard enough to hurt. It comes after them as they give way, fending its blows off without bothering to properly counterattack, feigning weakness.

At last Hoosier yells, “Now!” And they dive out of the way, letting the Kaiju lunge past them, right onto the outer line of mines that were the downfall of the harbor and Hoosier’s family. The explosion roars in his ears, the Jaeger crouches, shielding the pilots’ chamber from the worst of the shock wave and debris.

They whip around, fists at the ready, but the sim melts around them, leaving them back in the cramped room they started in. Leckie leans in his harness, breathing heavily, letting the adrenaline bleed out of him. For a moment he almost can’t make himself look at their score on the screen in front of him, then he forces himself to look up.

2:37 flashes in front of them, green. “Team personal best time,” a disembodied voice announces, “clear room for next team.” Leckie stares at the time, hardly able to believe it. Instinctively he looks around for Hoos, under three minutes to beat the sim; it has to be enough, it has to be. Silently, he slips out of his harness and walks over to Hoos, who’s just stepping out of his own. Not caring who’s there to see it, Leckie draws him in close. Hoosier clings to him, burying his face in Leckie’s shoulder.

His voice is muffled, “Guess they would have worked after all.” 

Leckie holds him tighter, then they walk out of the sim room shoulder to shoulder. Leckie automatically raises a hand to shade his eyes, squinting in anticipation of the bright daylight. He doesn’t see the incoming threat until Chuckler barrels into them, knocking him into Hoosier. Chuckler throws his arms around the both of them, almost lifting them off their feet with the force of his hug. Seconds later something knocks into them from the other side, and another pair of arms wraps around them.

“We made it, we made it!” Runner practically dances in place, tugging them off balance in his excitement.

“I knew it,” Chuckler says fiercely, “I knew you’d do it.” Leckie extricates himself slightly from the hug, and sees Hoosier grinning lopsidedly as if he can’t quite believe it and shaking his head. He catches Leckie’s eye and his grin grows until he’s smiling wider than the sun, and Leckie feels his own smile growing to match it.

It’s a beginning. It’s a beginning, and with these three by his side he’ll take on anything, especially the monsters. 

**Author's Note:**

> Pearl Harbor was never a location in the tv show The Pacific, but I wanted to include it here as a personal easter egg :)


End file.
